As a mother of three wonderful children, I often find myself reflecting on the journey of motherhood. Each child is unique—beautiful, challenging, and at times, utterly exhausting. Growing up, I envisioned my future as a mother, imagining myself in my 30s, looking stylish and composed, effortlessly balancing a thriving career with the joys of motherhood, all while standing on a picturesque beach with my three adorable kids.
Well, I have those kids, but the rest of my fantasy? Not quite accurate. Convincing my husband that a third child was essential took some effort, especially after having two daughters. I played the “What about trying for a boy?” card, and while he was content with our daughters, I wouldn’t let go of the idea of a third child. Eventually, he relented, and he has no regrets about our now toddler son, who is surprisingly the easiest of the bunch. At that time, I would have been delighted with either a boy or a girl; I simply felt the pull of that third child I was meant to have.
And so, my family feels complete, and my maternal aspirations appear fulfilled. But life, as we know, is rarely straightforward. Enter the complexities of biological clocks and hormones.
After my son’s birth, which had its share of complications—thanks to some pesky blood pressure issues and elevated liver enzymes followed by a relatively smooth induction—I was elated. During the car ride home, my husband innocently asked, “How was your last pregnancy?”
That question knocked the wind out of me. I suddenly found myself overwhelmed with emotion. Last pregnancy? How could he be so oblivious? To be fair, he was just expressing his contentment with our family, unaware of the emotional tempest brewing within me. After all, I had vocalized my resolve of “never again” throughout my challenging pregnancy, which he certainly heard about for nine months.
Logically, I should have been satisfied. But logic takes a backseat to postpartum hormones. And when you’re in your mid-30s, those biological urges start to make themselves known with a fervor that resembles a primal instinct: “Hurry, there’s still time for one more, but it’s almost too late!”
Once I turned 35, my ovaries seemed to develop their own personality—an assertive, demanding one. They’ve been relentless, producing eggs with a regularity I hadn’t experienced before. It’s almost cruel; I could have used this timely predictability when I was younger and actively trying to conceive.
For example, around day 12 of my cycle, I often find myself engaged in an internal dialogue with my ovaries. It begins subtly—a daydream or two that veers into intimate territory. My husband certainly appreciates my heightened libido, but I start to wonder about the source of this sudden arousal.
Me: Ovaries, are you trying to mislead me into thinking I want another child?
Ovaries: We’ve got a prime egg this month. You wouldn’t want to miss out on this opportunity.
Me: Thanks for the boost, but my husband is set against having another baby. So, even if I might entertain the thought, we’re finished expanding our family.
Ovaries: Maybe he’ll change his mind. You know you want this egg!
Me: It’s not solely my decision. Plus, I’m exhausted and have personal goals to pursue.
Ovaries: This one will have the sleep gene. You can manage this! Don’t let this egg go to waste!
Me: I can’t afford another child. And I don’t trust your so-called sleep gene. I’ve been sleep-deprived for years, and I have personal ambitions now. I’m joining a gym, taking belly dancing classes, and even considering going back to school. I want to be a role model for my kids, not a sleep-deprived zombie.
Ovaries: Fine, but you know you’re tempted. Here, let me help with some enticing thoughts to sway you. How about a reminder of the joy when your other three were born? Or the thought that time is running out?
Me: (sighing) Just stop, Ovaries. I’ll have intimate moments, but not because you’re compelling me. I am in control here.
Ovaries: Sure, waste that egg. But just wait until menopause—every month will be a reminder of what you’re missing out on.
It’s clear that my mid-30s hormones have driven me to the brink of madness. If anyone has figured out how to silence their biological clock, I’m all ears. For now, I’m off to the gym to focus on myself.
For more information on pregnancy and home insemination, check out the excellent resource at the CDC. If you’re interested in fertility boosters, you might want to explore this authority on the topic. And for those considering different methods of insemination, you can find helpful insights here.
In summary, navigating the emotional and physical aspects of motherhood, especially as time ticks away on my reproductive years, has been tumultuous. While my ovaries seem to have their own agenda, I remain focused on my current family and personal aspirations.